


Turned Away

by Sigmund



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-03-25 11:59:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3809587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sigmund/pseuds/Sigmund
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A different direction from Eleuden's before You Point Your Finger.</p><p>From the bbcmusketeerkinkmeme: A new jealous recruit makes a terrible mistake and our favorite Gascon takes the blame. And the three people he thought he could count on, don't believe him when he says he didn't o it. Ending in a horrible argument where harsh words are said, D'art leaves to find/prove the truth on his own. When the truth comes to light on what really happened(another Musketeer see's the new recruit talking to the Red Guards and joining them for something, etc), can the brothers make it right? Will they even be able too, after finally finding him nearly beaten to death and in a coma?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elenduen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenduen/gifts), [DebbieF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebbieF/gifts).



> Eleuden gave her blessing so this is gifted to her in the hopes that her mother recovers quickly with grace. Then I asked DebbieF for her opinion and she was so supportive and quick with her comments.
> 
> Thank you if you have been kind to comment and kudo my other stories. I am a bit of a slow writer lately because of real life. I hope that changes soon because I have other ideas.

 

D'Artagnan's feet dragged as the medic got him to his room, then gestured for him to lie on his stomach once he was seated on the bed. His back was a throbbing unending pain causing him nausea that he tried to breathe away. The young musketeer had been flogged for a crime he did not commit. Fifty unforgiving lashes tore his back until he retreated into his mind. Only now he dared to relinquish his hold on his hiding place.

"Take this." Aramis had come in at some point and waived a vial in his face. "It's milk of poppy," the sharpshooter explained.

It would take away the pain and bring some oblivion. How had it come to this? Dupuis had accused him of dereliction of duty, saying d'Artagnan had gone off to stalk Constance in the marketplace while in the meantime; Dupuis had saved the Queen and her attendants from an unexplained fire.

D'Artagnan explained the truth when he returned to the garrison after waking in a desolated section on the palace grounds. The young man had been taken by some Red Guards; a cloth with some vile scent had been forced over his mouth rendering him unconscious.

Yet, his friends and Treville did not believe him after Athos revealed their discussion of over a month ago. "You promised me that you were no longer going to follow Madame Bonacieux. You had given her up. You lied and your lies brought dishonor to you and almost the Queen's death. You failed to protect and brought embarrassment to yourself."

It was a shock. d'Artagnan had kept his word, realized that Constance needed to be with her husband. The young man thought he friends knew him better, _trusted_ he would keep his word.

He wanted to speak against Dupuis, realizing the other man had only pretended to be his friend. D'Artagnan had shared a few confidences, a little about Constance, which had been enough to be used against him. D'Artagnan had trusted someone he thought would be a brother-in-arms one day soon.

The milk of poppy provided the promised in its bitter taste. The medic returned at some point, washing his back with salted water so that it stung all the more. The Gascon faded for a time as the deeper wounds were stitched.

"You must rest. Allow this to heal." It was Aramis again, then he and the medic were gone. D'Artagnan was alone.

Three days of resting with Serge bringing him meals and checking on him, coaxing him to take the milk of poppy as needed even though it muddled d'Artagnan's mind brought forth the nightmares of reliving each lash. He could stay in bed no longer if he was to prove his innocence and Dupuis's treachery, which had gained Dupuis a pauldron.

The garrison's cook had been the only visitor. Somehow the Gascon created a convincing dream that Athos, Aramis and Porthos were only staying away to allow him to rest, while looking to prove his innocence. The young man did not want to accept he had been abandoned. Once he left his room all would be revealed.

"You aren't bleedin' anymore," Serge announced as he brought dinner.

d'Artagnan was not bleeding, but he felt the pull of stitches and soreness. There would be scars eventually, once his skin sealed.

The process of getting out of bed was slow. However, if he could get up to use the chamber pot, then he could be free of the room. D'Artagnan's limbs shook from the burning pain that radiated from his back to stretch to his chest, arms and legs. There was a heaviness that made his movements stiff. By the time the Gascon was dressed, he needed to splash his face with water to remove the beads of sweat formed from the exertion.

Every stitch was being pulled by his weapons, but he would not be allowed on duty without them. Once the young musketeer was ready to leave his room, d'Artagnan needed to go to Treville's office in order to get permission to return to his post.

As he stood in front of the door the young man thought returning to his room to hide was a better idea, but d'Artagnan needed to prove his innocence. Knocking on the door was the first step.

"You are not welcomed at the palace. Your duties will be limited to night patrol and the garrison. Perhaps in time, you will be able to go on missions away from Paris. You _must_ learn from your _mistake_."

D'Artagnan's mouth went dry at the Captain's vehemence. Unable to voice a reply, he nodded in agreement. Once the young man exited he looked out from the balcony, his eyes falling on Athos, Aramis and Porthos, sitting at their usual table. As d'Artagnan came down the stairs he saw them leaving.

A onetime occurrence could have been easily explained as coincidence. Being assigned the stables on his second day on duty meant d'Artagnan would have to come into contact with his best friends, but they avoided entering. His so called friends went so far to stay on the other side of the yard during morning muster. D'Artagnan bit his lip to control his anguish as his soul cracked from the loss. Loneliness birds circled him.

There was no balm to be found, just the fire of revealing Dupuis's true nature.

Initially, the days passed with what d'Artagnan expected- crass comments from his fellow musketeers. Although expected, the words still smarted. The Gascon still tried to train, but the musketeers that were willing took it as an opportunity to provide additional physical punishment.

After a quiet night patrol, made quieter by the fact the two other musketeers refused to address him directly, he returned to his room. The candle the young musketeer lit illuminated his sanctuary.

His bed, left neat, was strewn with manure, some even smeared on the wall. d'Artagnan backed up to the door in horror.

Fellow musketeers had come into his room and defiled his home. Brothers he would have defended to death if need be.

The young man slid down to the floor, curling up with his sore back to the door. If someone were to enter then he would know as they would come into contact with his body. The door was drafty, but d'Artagnan was not about to sleep in his bed. The Gascon would also not draw attention by getting more sheets. He left everything as is. Let them think he slept in manure. Let them think he was defeated.

"Take this." Serge forced a cup of warm milk on him after morning muster. "You look like you need it."

D'Artagnan wanted to push it away, but the cook was the only one who seemed to acknowledge him. "Thank you." He accepted the kindness, tasting the milk laced with brandy.

The next night it was his cloak, extra shirt and doublet destroyed, slashed with nothing left to sew. D'Artagnan thought it was over, since anything of value he either wore or was beyond repair.

The young man was brought to his knees though after a long day of seeing Dupuis enjoying the camaraderie as a new Musketeer. It was easy to ignore the bed and clothes, but the smell of smoke and burning was distinct.

The fireplace was cold embers, with hands on his hips he looked around the room, finally setting his eyes on the table.

His mother's rosary, made by his father from olive wood was charred, beads missing as the leather in some areas was burned through. Touching the beads, the soot transferred to his fingers, wearing away more so d'Artagnan left them in the hope he would find a solution to bring the beads to their former glory. The young man swallowed the choked sob.

D'Artagnan worried. In his fugue state he was alert, waiting for the threats. For the musketeers to go through his room, would they stop at that? Could he expect to be killed in the middle of the night for the shame he had brought to the regiment? Because of this he barely slept.

The wounds on his back were not healing, more like seeping constantly. There was also an unnatural heat to them. D'Artagnan knew he should go to the medic, but then what? Be placed on leave? Told to rest, or worse, told it would be better if he died?

Even with the ever present fever d'Artagnan needed to continue with his plan to unmask Dupuis.

On night patrol with Mattias and LeClerc the young man gave them space to ignore him. They had passed other musketeers enjoying an evening at the Wren, one being Dupuis.

"Damn, its cold out." Mattias stamped his feet. "No one's out here. We should just return to the garrison and our warm beds."

LeClerc cupped his hands near his mouth to blow on them. "We still need to cover that area."

"I can check the last quadrant," d'Artagnan volunteered.

The two musketeers scrutinized him for a moment before LeClerc nodded. "See to it."

D'Artagnan refrained from thanking them. He did check the last area before returning to wait outside of the Wren in the shadows until he could follow Dupuis. So far it had been fruitless, but d'Artagnan did not want to give up on the truth.

Watching, although his body wanted rest, he waited to see Dupuis stumble from the tavern into a group of Red Guards. Dupuis did not look happy to be with the rival group, but he did not struggle. Instead they moved him to a nearby alley.

D'Artagnan moved closer, debating if he would help Dupuis if his nemesis was in trouble.

_"We got you what you wanted; now we want our money."_

_"I will have it soon."_

_"You better or we tell your Musketeer friends the truth and let them deal with you."_

_"Won't like that you put the Queen in danger and blamed their friend."_

Stunned, d'Artagnan realized Dupuis's plan had been to hire the Red Guards to incapacitate him, while he saved the Queen.

"Dupuis!" D'Artagnan exited his hiding space. He wanted his justice, the truth to come to light to exonerate him.

"Stop him or we are all ruined." Dupuis backed away.

There were four guards; d'Artagnan dispatched one easily with a blow to the head. Then there were three. Dupuis had scampered away in the scuffle. In his condition, this was not an ideal fight, but the Gascon kept up his momentum until someone struck his knee from behind sending him to the ground. That moment became an opportunity for the Red Guards to attack him instead of defend themselves. D'Artagnan felt himself propelled head first into the wall that provided a divide to the nearby home. Rendered senseless, he did not protect himself, but only had the realization that death was imminent. It numbed him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos! I hope you all continue to enjoy. I am always nervous in posting after working on something especially lately. I get to bring LeMay in on this, which I hope people like.

Porthos was tired of making suggestions. It was not like d'Artagnan to miss muster regardless of the shame he was carrying. The musketeers around him grumbled about the Gascon's failings, but what worried Porthos was the lack of concern. To him d'Artagnan was missing. "I think we should look for him."

"Who?" Aramis asked as he cleaned his musket.

"d'Artagnan."

The sharpshooter looked down the barrel. "We have no idea where he could be."

"Perhaps he has gone to chase Constance again," Athos added with his hat lowered over his eyes to keep out the sunlight. Dupuis had said that d'Artagnan had abandoned his post to see Constance. She had obviously become an unhealthy obsession for the Gascon, one Athos had warned would have repercussions.

The lack of evidence also did not sit with Porthos as they never question Constance's whereabouts. Had she even been out of the house that day? "The boy has been looking worn. I think someone should check on him." This time Porthos would not be dissuaded. He rather the company and help of his friends, but he would look on his own if need be.

Athos stood. The subject of d'Artagnan was no longer discussed as the young man had been annexed for his actions. "I've been asked by the Captain to help with correspondence. I won't stop you gentlemen. . ."

Aramis watched Athos go up the stairs. "He was on duty with Mattias and LeClerc. When they awake we can ask them about d'Artagnan."

Porthos smiled, happy that the sharpshooter was willing and had not forgotten their young friend.

The medic raised a brow at the grin. "What? I thought it was important to be informed."

Aramis eventually went into the stables to check on his horse before they set out to search the area where Mattias and LeClerc had parted from d'Artagnan.

Porthos saw the cart come in with no sense of urgency as Seiss dismounted and sauntered to the back of the cart. "Need help?" Porthos called out. When he got close he saw there was a body in the cart with dark hair and olive skin marred by bruises making him almost unrecognizable. "D'Artagnan?"

"He's alive." Seiss went to shift the body.

Porthos pushed the other musketeer away, bundled d'Artagnan into his arms, moved to head up the stairs. "Aramis!"

His tone was enough to bring Aramis out, meeting Porthos at the stairs, the medic pushed d'Artagnan's hair from his face. "Call a surgeon." When Seiss did not move, Aramis prompted him. "Now! Get LeMay if you can. Hurry or I will use you for target practice!"

Hearing Aramis's level of urgency Porthos hurried up the stairs to the young man's room thankful he could hear d'Artagnan's breaths. Aramis opened the door to allow Porthos in, but the large man only took a step. "What the-" The Gascon's room, usually orderly, had been violated. The bed had dried manure, torn clothing and the walls defaced.

Porthos was angry spilled out as he growled, "He can't stay here."

A few musketeers had taken interest and followed them. "Is the room next door empty? Open it!" Aramis ordered. "I need hot water, bandages."

Porthos set down his precious package, taking a better look at the torn clothes, the swollen features, the arm at an awkward angle. The medic turned d'Artagnan's head and gasped. "Aramis. . ."

"We need a doctor." The sharpshooter stated. "I will tend to him the best I can"

"I'm going to tell the Captain and Athos." The men gathered gave a wide berth to Porthos as he went to Treville's office. "D'Artagnan's been beaten. A surgeon's been called."

The Captain and Athos followed him, stopping at d'Artagnan's room while Porthos went to the next door. "No, not in his room."

Athos frowned and opened the door. "Why?"

Porthos joined the Captain and Athos. "It's disgusting, isn't it?"

"This is unacceptable. I don't understand it." Athos went to the table.

Porthos saw the beads, knew the story behind them and how they usually were on the lad's bed post.

"Further the punishment." Treville sighed, taking in the words on the wall.

Athos must have sensed something from the Captain's tone as he charged in to defend the young man. "You condone this? The boy was flogged. That was his punishment."

"I know." Treville stated. "I will find out who tortured him."

Porthos nodded. "And we'll find out who attacked him."

((()))

 

LeMay arrived out of breath into the room, putting down his bag as he assessed the situation. "He's been beaten. How much have you tended?"

"I've cleaned him. His arm needs to be set, some ribs are broken. There is a head injury."

The doctor examined the injured young man, opening his eyes, touching his head. "You know the treatment for this type of wound. The humors need to be balanced."

Aramis shook his head. "I can't agree. I know you are learned, but too many men have died or worse." The medic could easily envision worse. Seeing a man unable to care of his own needs, living in a shell of a body waiting for God to call him home would not be a fate he wished for d'Artagnan.

Athos, Porthos and the Captain entered with Treville ordering the other Musketeers outside back to their duties.

"Can you stitch the wounds while I set the arm?" LeMay asked as he acknowledged, but ignored the audience.

Aramis agreed, though he flexed and relaxed his hands before he started.

The wounds marring the front part of d'Artagnan's body were cleaned, stitched and set. The Gascon's body, although cool from being outdoors too long, was warm from fever without reasoning.

"There's a scent of infection. I don't understand." LeMay frowned.

"His back." Aramis had not tended it after the initial flogging.   He watched the deterioration, but ignored it. "Can you help turn him?" The medic gestured to Athos and Porthos.

In as gentle a manner as possible they turned the young man. Aramis could not control the gasp at the grotesque flesh. The stitches had not been removed; instead they were inflamed with yellow and white pus. The other lash marks were red, hot, seeping and swollen. Aramis pushed d'Artagnan's hair off his face. Surely, the Gascon had been in pain.

"These need to be lanced and opened. Maggots to eat the dead flesh," LeMay announced. "Cleaned with spirits."

Aramis's stomach rolled, but he needed to do this task. The others remained stoic as they watched. There was no reaction from d'Artagnan, no inclination he would wake even though his body was being treated harshly as the wounds were reopened, bled, scrubbed, then maggots allowed to roam in order to disinfect the flesh.

Once finished, and the fattened maggots returned to their box, Athos stepped away from the wall he was leaning against. "Will he survive?"

"If it was just the injuries, then yes, but his back from the flogging is infected, his weaken general state and the injury to his head. . ." LeMay trailed off unable to deny the possibility that death was coming for d'Artagnan..

Treville crossed his arms. "Injury to his head?"

"Blood in the ear, the pupils in the eyes...I would usually drill a hole to release the blood, but Aramis is against it."

Aramis knew the doctor felt strongly about the barbaric treatment. The sharpshooter wanted nothing to do it with it for him and his friend. "People have died more than lived. Captain, do not allow it."

"For now, Aramis, I will listen to your opinion," Treville said after studying Aramis.

The Captain escorted LeMay out. The doctor gave a list of instructions along with a promise to check on his patient the following day.

"We need to find out who did this to him," Porthos had pushed them both to do more in regards to d'Artagnan, but neither had been willing to get involved.

The sharpshooter fixated on the wall that separated the room they were currently in from d'Artagnan's room. "And if it was other musketeers who attacked him?"

"Treville said he would discover who defiled d'Artagnan's room," Athos stated, shifting from where he was standing; his blue eyes intent on watching d'Artagnan take even breaths.

"We should start with where he parted from LeClerc and Mattias." Porthos was never one to relax, much like Aramis, he craved movement.

Athos placed his hands on the chair next to the injured man's bed. "I will stay here."

They had righted d'Artagnan so he was on his back and the ribs were bandaged. Although hesitant to have him on his back, LeMay said that unobstructed breathing was more important. "Try to cool him and trickle some water into his mouth. I will have some broth sent up. He needs some sort of sustenance."

"I will try my best," Athos vowed.

Aramis recognized the solemnity and he made a similar pledge.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to cross my fingers that I can post tomorrow. Busy week ahead so I wanted to put this part up. Thank you if you commented and for the kudos. It is an amazing pick me up. I am enjoying the opinions of where you think the story should go...hmm

Porthos and Aramis found the scene easily with the directions given by the musketeers who had found d'Artagnan. The alley was near the Wren, a popular tavern frequented by musketeers.

Looking around Porthos almost miss the curtain moving in one of the houses that overlooked the alley. The larger man gestured to the window, and Aramis led the way to the home.

A quick knock at the door brought a young lady. They bowed after she had asked them to state their business. "We are sorry to intrude, but we are the King's Musketeers investigating a fight that took place in the alley. Would there be someone willing to talk to us?"

The young lady studied them for a moment, then her eyes trailed up the stairs. "You saw my grandmother at the window? I will ask her, but understand she has good days and bad days." She gestured for them to step into the small home.

"Thank you,” Porthos added.

They remained still, but took in the shabby surroundings with Porthos estimating it was a merchant family, falling on difficult times. The young woman came down the stairs halfway before calling them to come up. “You’ll have to speak loudly.”

Sitting in a chair in the corner was the woman they had seen at the window. Her gray hair tied back severely.

"Madame, there was an altercation in the early morning. Did you happen to see it?" Porthos always let Aramis lead when it came to women, as the sharpshooter felt he was the best at speaking to the fairer sex.

The elderly woman turned away from the window. "Four in red and two in blue like you."

"Blue like us? A musketeer?" Porthos grasped his cloak as the woman confirmed.   "Did you see what he looked like? The one in blue? Or the others?"

One of her eyes had a milky cataract film. "No, just the shape and colors."

"Thank you, Madame. You have been most helpful." Aramis bowed, then kissed her hand in gratitude.

Stepping outside, they were both of one mind as they walked to the tavern. "We need to find out who was in the Wren."

It was quiet in the dingy tavern, made worse by the light streaming in the dirty windows which showed the worn floor and scarred tables. Porthos rolled his eyes as Aramis reached over to the woman behind the bar. "Belle, my love, there were a few musketeers last night that graced your establishment. Can you tell us which ones?"

"Not without a coin." She held out her hand, waiting for the sous.

"Of course." Porthos handed her the money.

Belle quickly hid the money in her skirts. "There were five here –Jules, Laurent, Seph and Yves and the new one with the still shiny pauldron."

Aramis’s hand went down Belle’s bare arm. "Thank you, Belle. As always your beauty is a waste in this establishment."

It was enough information that Porthos could see there was more at work here than what it seemed. A musketeer or perhaps more were involved in having d’Artagnan attacked.   He did not relish sharing this news with Athos and Treville.

At the garrison there was an eerie quietness as if any noise would be unwelcomed. Aramis and Porthos filed up to d’Artagnan’s room. Athos had taken his duties very seriously. There was a carafe of water, a bowl of half-finished broth and a cloth resting on d’Artagnan’s temple. A blanket was neatly tucked around the injured lad.

“What happened?” Porthos gestured to the garrison field below.

“Treville wanted names of those who defiled d'Artagnan's room. He was quite loud. I am surprised you did not hear him outside of the garrison.”

Aramis then shared what their minimal investigation had discovered. A musketeer was involved.

"What if d'Artagnan did not leave his post? What if it was like what he said?" Porthos had wished before Treville had passed judgment they had let the situation cool, but fear for the Queen’s life and the wrath of the King had not let logical minds prevail. They were caught up in the moment.

Aramis frowned. "That the Red Guards rendered him unconscious? Why?"

"What would they have to gain?" Athos fidgeted with d’Artagnan’s blanket, settling it the same as it had been.

Porthos rubbed his head. “What would a musketeer have to gain?" If a brother was going against another brother, then there needed to be a reason. Could it be to extend the punishment d’Artagnan had already bore?

"Tell Treville about our suspicions, then wait to see who comes forward,” Athos decided for them.

(())

How was this possible that this was occurring in his garrison yet he knew nothing? Eight of them entered over the course of the day to report they had entered d’Artagnan’s quarters in order to serve their own punishment.

Repayment for the damage done along with repair of the room to its previous condition entailed some of the punishment, which also included restriction to the garrison. Flogging was an obvious choice, but with so many involved it did not seem prudent.

Treville told Serge that when and if Jules, Laurent, Seph, Yves or Dupuis entered his office he was to send for Aramis, Athos and Porthos. The plan was created after Aramis and Porthos had reported their findings. The Captain was surprised a musketeer was involved.

Jules and Laurent entered a little later, hats off, unable to make eye contact because of their guilt. The Captain had already seen the same demeanor repeated.

"You've come to inform me that you were involved in the debasing of d'Artagnan's room and belongings."

"Yes, Sir."

"Have the others told you of the punishment?"

"Yes, Sir."

Athos and Porthos barged into Treville's office. The surprise along with barely controlled rage of Porthos made Jules and Laurent jump. "They were the ones that went into d'Artagnan's room."

"There are others, but yes," Treville confirmed Porthos's question.

"And they are in league with the Red Guards," Athos added. He circled the men as if he was a hunter. "Because ruining your brother's belongings was not enough."

"What are you talking about?" Jules stuttered.

Laurent lifted his hands in placation. "We are in league with no one."

"You were at the tavern near where d'Artagnan was found." Porthos kept his eyes leveled. Treville was not getting involved as of yet. He wanted to see where the threats would lead.

"That means nothing." Jules clenched his hands.

Athos moved so he was a short distance away from Jules's face. "Nothing? That means everything. Who else was with you?"

Laurent tried to intervene. "We did not leave, too in our cups, and I went with the girl with the mark on her cheek-"

"I left with Marie." Jules's voice escalated into a higher pitch. "She'll tell you the same. Dupuis will tell you. We were still there when he left."

Dupuis worried the Captain. It was his testimony that caused d'Artagnan's downfall, but the new musketeer also had saved the Queen in a strange unexplainable manner.

"Was Dupuis also involved in defiling d'Artagnan's room?" Porthos flexed his hands as if about to punch them.

They shook their heads.

"Say nothing to him. You are restricted to the garrison." Treville waved them out of his office, no longer wanting Jules and Laurent in his sights.

Once they were gone, Athos came forward, put his hand on the Captain's desk. "We would like to talk to Dupuis."

"Very well." Treville gave his permission for his men to find the truth. He only worried where the truth was going to lead. Suddenly, it seemed as if there had been a grave mistake.

(())

With finesse Athos and Porthos cornered Dupuis while Aramis remained with d'Artagnan. Until they figured out the plot, one of them would stay with the unconscious younger man.

Dupuis was a master manipulator using the knowledge of Constance and d'Artagnan to use as the basis of his use. The truth was then twisted enough for them to believe the Gascon had done the crime. But, Dupuis, although a manipulator, was weak under scrutiny. Within moments of being cornered by the accusations his nervousness overtook him and he revealed his plans. The sword to his throat, cutting controlled lines on his neck may have been pushed things along.

"The Red Guards provided a distraction so I could save the Queen from the fi-fire." Dupuis flinched as Athos's blade made another shallow cut while Porthos held his arms behind his back. "I paid them to to do so."

"How did the fire happen?" Porthos lifted the captured arms in an awkward position that had Dupuis panting in pain.

"I set it!" Dupuis repeated as tears started to leak from his eyes and his voice became hoarse.

Athos thought of his question earlier, unable to understand what would cause a man to do this. "Why?"

"To be a musketeer. I deserved it. _I am_ of noble blood." Dupuis slumped forward while Athos lowered his blade.

Porthos though became incensed, pulling the man back up to fully standing by his hair and then punched him in the kidney causing Dupuis to go to his knees. "D'Artagnan could die!"

Athos lifted his sword once more, starting at Dupuis's throat trailing to his heart then to his stomach. A stomach wound would be excruciating painful, and take the traitor hours to die. Athos had abandoned his friend, allowing him to be punished for a crime he did not commit.

"He needs to be brought to the King," Porthos interrupted. "As much as I want you to do it, we’ve got to officially clear d'Artagnan's name. Dupuis will die for this anyway one way or another."

Dupuis cried at that proclamation. Pathetic. Athos planted his boot in the traitor's face and he collapsed to the side.

"We showed d'Artagnan no mercy or fairness." Athos looked down at the gray dirt, dropping his sword since if felt so heavy. Crashing on his shoulders was the weight of his mistake. "We were perpetrators of a tragedy."

The truth was revealed in court, the king proclaiming Dupuis's death by firing squad while exonerating d'Artagnan. The Cardinal had suggested exile for his Red Guards, but Louis decided not to show mercy once Treville informed the monarch of d'Artagnan's injuries.

A morose silence layered itself on the garrison over the course of the week. Missions and duties were accomplished with usual efficiency, but remorse was in all actions. LeMay had kept his word to see his patient on a daily basis.

Athos was grateful, but still d'Artagnan remained unconscious, thinning as his only sustenance was broth and water. They watched as the bruising lessened, the infection on the Gascon's back diminished, leaving the flogging marks behind.

"He has not awakened and Aramis is most insistent in not drilling holes into d'Artagnan's skull," LeMay announced after his examination, gently placing his patient on his side.

Aramis shook his head. The sharpshooter had been vehement against LeMay's suggested treatment. "If he is to die, better that he slips away, but maybe there is hope. Please. We can send him to the monastery at Douai. They will take him in."

"Captain?"

Treville checked in on d'Artagnan a few times a day, even his guilt was palatable. Aramis was forcing their commanding officer to make the decision because Athos had already shared that he was unwilling to allow d'Artagnan to live if he did not return to them fully in mind and body. The young musketeer would not want that, and the Captain could not place Athos in that predicament.

"I will make arrangements with the King to pay for his maintenance." Treville excused himself.

The sharpshooter thanked LeMay for his assistance, then pinned Athos with a look. "I will call in the priest at Saint-Denis for Last Rites."

Athos learned not to disagree with Aramis in regards to his faith.

"We will make the journey together." Athos looked to Porthos with confirmation. The larger man nodded. "We owe him more than that."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I posted. Touch and go there and it has been a long day. Thank you so much for the kudos--wow, so much more than I expected! I took a direction with this that people may not expect.

The abbot at Douai was left instructions to contact them should d'Artagnan's condition change in any way. Four months had passed with no news. In the meantime the three musketeers had guarded the King and done his business. They were to be passing Douai, and made arrangements to spend some time at the monastery before returning to the garrison.

The comfortable warmth of the day did not alleviate the mood as they neared the Douai. The weight of their guilt manifested itself with stilted conversation and unleveled looks. There had been no penance for them, no way to make it up to their injured friend.

Athos rode through the open gates, dismounting his horse and walking it toward the stable though they did not reach that far. One of the brothers had sent for the abbot.

Aramis greeted the man. "Any news on d'Artagnan?"

"Come with me-" The abbot gestured for them to follow, but that was insufficient for Athos as his stomach dropped in apprehension.

"Has he died?"

"No, quite the contrary." The abbot gave a small smile. "Come inside."

Porthos pushed Athos along. Did it mean d'Artagnan lived and was awake? None of them sat at the long table, although it was probably the intention of the abbot.

"You were supposed to send a missive if there was a change." Athos knew he was speaking to a man of God so he reined in his temperament out of respect. "How long?"

The abbot poured wine for them. "We decided to respect Charles's wishes on the matter."

"He didn't want us to know," Porthos summarized, passing out the drinks. "He doesn't trust us."

The abbot motioned for them to sit, tightening his lips together. This time they acquiesced so he continued, "When he first woke we did not know if he would survive. His headaches were blinding, but they have diminished now to an occasional nuisance. He is still gathering his strength, but he is much improved."

"Where is he?"

"Charles is tending to our farm. He should return shortly." The priest explained to Athos, but then frowned as a thought passed through his mind. "I should speak to him first."

"Warn him, you mean," Porthos clarified.

The abbot shook his head, then stood. "Prepare him."

While alone they spent some time in silence, becoming accustomed to the idea d'Artagnan was alive.

"Would he have come to us?" Aramis finally asked breaking the quiet.

Porthos rubbed his chin. "He's not one to run away."

True. d'Artagnan was one to go head first into danger. Athos had to believe when the lad felt ready he would have sought them out.

The abbot returned with a grim face. "Charles will be here shortly. He is gathering his thoughts."

When d'Artagnan finally entered they heard his footsteps first against the stone floor. It was so tempting to grip the young man, but instead the three held back though grins and watering eyes could not be stopped.

"We didn't know what we would find, but you alive and well. . ." Aramis's voice dropped off in emotions.

"How are you?" d'Artagnan's hair was short, which would have made him look boyish if he wasn't so gaunt. The Gascon had his arms wrapped, clenching his elbows.

He focused on Porthos. "Fine." The young man's clothes kept his wounds covered; the only ones apparent on his face were a mark on his forehead and another on his chin.

Athos knew more needed to be said, especially by him. "I know you did not expect us. What we owe you is an apology for not believing you."

d'Artagnan stepped closer. "If you tell me my memories are false, then _I'd believe you_. I would go with you, as your brother, a Musketeer. Please tell me."

Athos shook his head. How he wished he could give another answer. "I cannot."

The Gascon's eyes filled, which he blinked away. "I came to you for counsel and you said not to let Constance become an obsession. And I listened, f-followed your advice. I did not become a drunkard, engage in risky dalliances or cheat at cards." D'Artagnan's eyes flashed on each one as he uttered their faults. "I kept my word to you. Why did you believe the accusation? Why did you not allow me a defense?"

He brought a fist to his head. The action worried Athos and the others, even the abbot.

"Charles—"

"I bore the flogging as punishment for a crime I did not commit." D'Artagnan closed his eyes and his voice deepened. "You did not believe me, then you abandoned me telling me my punishment was not enough. To think it was absolute proof that convinced you that you wronged me."

"We treated you badly-"

D'Artagnan threw his hands up with a wince since Athos's answer had infuriated the young man. "You did not treat me, and maybe I _should be grateful_ you did not follow the other musketeers."

"They've been punished," Porthos interrupted. "We didn't know what they had done."

"D'Artagnan, at least sit down." Aramis pulled out a seat.

"I-we-were wrong." Athos got closer to try to escort the younger man to the chair, but d'Artagnan stumbled away.

The Gascon shook his head. "Why d-did you come here?"

"You are one of us," Aramis said quietly trying to calm the situation. "We promised-"

"No, I'm not one of you." D'Artagnan frowned, his hand returned to the scar on his forehead. "What happened to me would not have happened to one of you." The younger man backed up, then turned to go up the stairs.

"Joffe, help him to his room." The abbot called out to one of the younger brothers who were nearby. "Bring the powder, too." None of them missed the glare Joffe gave the trio. "Joffe sees him has a miracle. He tended to Charles during his convalescence."

Aramis gave a watery grin. "He is a miracle."

"He needs some rest," the abbot replied.

Athos did not believe that rest would be enough. D'Artagnan was punishing them, rightfully so.

(())

Porthos and Aramis were tending to their horses in the stable and then planned to get some rest, but Athos wanted to be with d'Artagnan, watch him. He found the room that had been assigned to the Gascon, Joffe was just slipping out leaving the door slightly ajar.

"How is he?" Athos asked, seeing the dark hair and a sheet pulled up.

The young brother did not try to hide his disdain for the musketeer. "Sleeping. He should not be disturbed." Joffe blocked his view.

"I thank you for taking care of him." Athos bowed his head in homage.

Joffe grimaced, gave a look back to d'Artagnan, then his face became passive. "He told me about you and the others." The young brother shrugged. "Told me you taught him to be a soldier."

Athos felt infused with some hope as the Gascon had spoken positive about them. He wanted more. "What else did he tell you?"

"About his father. His father taught him much about farming."

Yes, d'Artagnan would speak about family. At times of challenge they were especially needed. "And honor."

Joffe nodded. Not wanting the brother to leave, Athos pressed a conversation. "He cut his hair."

"After he awoke it was falling out so he thought this would be better." Joffe cleared his throat as Athos's heart clenched at his friend's loss of so much. "We've all seen the marks. The flogging. He won't admit it, but the skin has scarred and it pulls sometimes."

There was more loss and guilt. "It should not have happened." Athos could have stopped the flogging, defended the lad, found the truth to preserve d'Artagnan's good name. Athos did none of this.

"You can stay with him. He will sleep until the morning."

When Joffe left Athos hovered at the door watching until he took up the vacant seat. There was a book turned over on the table near the bed. Had d'Artagnan been reading it, or was it being read to him? Did he enjoy reading?

Dozing lightly, Athos was fully awakened in the morning when Joffe returned before morning prayers to fill the ewer with hot water. Athos gave him a nod of greeting.

Porthos came awhile later. "The abbot says d'Artagnan will sleep a while longer and suggest you come and eat."

Athos returned, having delayed enough after breaking fast with a lite meal. He had left the door open, and perhaps d'Artagnan had become accustomed to the lack of privacy, but his shirt was removed and he was washing his face. Athos backed into the wall, hidden, unable to look and face the scars across the young man's back. He knew they were there, seen them, but thought they would heal better or completely as if nothing had happened.

Athos crept away.

(())

D'Artagnan felt refreshed after sleeping. When he awoke he thought all was as it was at the monastery, then he remembered the visitors. Athos, Aramis and Porthos, as larger than life as usual, were waiting for him. Unfortunately, he could not hide in his room and hope they would forget about him. The Gascon made his way down the stairs, loosening his body as his joints felt stiff, still healing.

The inseparables were at the communal table. A covered plate was prepared for him on days like this when his head ached forcing him to take the draught in order to sleep it off. Underneath the cloth was a bit of meat, cheese, bread with honeycomb and jam.

The Gascon had prepared his words. "I won't apologize, but I am in the monastery and the abbot would expect my behavior to be better so I will be civilized." d'Artagnan smeared the bread with the preserves.

He chewed, taking his time and drinking water before continuing. "It is hard to trust again. My commanding officer ordered my punishment. I admit my defense was weak, but did I not deserve some investigation?"'

"You did," Athos admitted and the other nodded in agreement.

There was curiosity about the garrison. These men had the answers. "What happened after…" D'Artagnan did not remember much of the attack.

Aramis and Porthos explained about finding him, LeMay's prognosis, and Dupuis's culpability.

"The musketeers compensated you," Porthos said. "It wasn't enough for what you went through."

D'Artagnan rubbed his head. "The chest. I wondered." There were clothes he hadn’t remembered owning, more than he could use, but the monks said it had come with him. Porthos understood though, it would not be enough. They were waiting for him to say more, treating him as damaged, which he did resemble. "Do you know why I came to Paris?"

Athos spoke up. "Some business with your father."

It smarted that they did not know. "Taxes. The people in Lupiac are being choked by taxes. My father was murdered before having the opportunity, then I met you three. I wanted the camaraderie, the brotherhood, _the loyalty_ you have. I wanted it so much I ignored the King’s taxes. My father, neighbors and friends were counting on us. It was the _reason_ we were in Pairs."

Aramis looked at his two friends. "You never told us."

"You never asked."

"We were remiss." Athos paled.

"I didn't talk about it because I was ashamed." D'Artagnan shrugged as if to lessen the hurt he felt. He did not intend to add to their guilt, just explain his reasoning. "My reasons for being a musketeer are gone. Maybe it was a path I should not have taken, maybe my direction can change again."

Athos lifted his hand up. "Please don't do this. Return with us."

D'Artagnan saw the emotion in Athos's eyes, but he had made up his mind. His time convalescing had made him determined. "I have reacquainted myself to my mother's family in Lucca. Once I am better then I will travel to them."

"Travel?" Porthos said the word as if it was foreign.

"Lucca cavorts with Spain." Aramis was trying to give reasons why he should not go to his mother's family. There was an uncle, aunt and cousins plus a small inheritance waiting for him.

"So tell me if you in my place what would you do?"

"Go to Lucca," Athos whispered as he stretched his hand closer to d'Artagnan. "If after your travels you wish to return then the musketeers will be welcoming and apologetic."

Perhaps they would be, but this moment would shadow him. D'Artagnan swallowed, his meal barely nibbled on. "I know you are and being here I should forgive you, but I can't _at this time_."


	5. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ends the journey of this fic-- thank you to Eleuden for allowing me to borrow her fic and to Debbie F for the opinion/betaing. Thank you if you gave me a kudo or left me a comment. I am always humbled and honored.

Eighteen months later Athos, Aramis and Porthos arrive at the palace. The King and Queen were hearing petitions, and Treville's directions were clear in his want of a larger musketeer presence. They were greeted by Jules before they entered the main room. "The Captain wanted to me to inform you that d'Artagnan is here. He is speaking to the King and Queen."

Quietly, Treville had informed them that the young man had made it to Lucca, if the Captain knew more, he did not share, respecting d'Artagnan's privacy and time to heal.

"About what?" Porthos asked the other musketeer.

"Trade." The musketeer lifted his brows.

Aramis mimicked the same expression. "Trade?"

"Curious." Athos went towards the throne room stopping as he saw d'Artagnan.

Wearing the white and red crest of Lucca with a panther in the middle on his cape, this was the d'Artagnan from before, but tempered with less exuberance and more confidence in his actions as he jested with the King.

After Louis stopped laughing he sobered. "You are still a musketeer, and welcomed as my personal guard if ever you want to return."

"Thank you, Your Highness." D'Artagnan bowed and excused himself.

Turning, the younger man found Athos, Aramis and Porthos staring at him each holding hope d'Artagnan had returned to take up his place with the musketeers. Athos noticed the younger man's hair had grown, his body a healthy weight to lose the hollowness of sickness. "You're back."

"With my cousin, Francesco." D'Artagnan gestured to a youth in the corner with the same dark complexion and hair color talking to a lady of the court.

"You found your family and they are involved in trade?" Athos asked, and d'Artagnan nodded. "A worthwhile profession."

The Gascon shrugged. "They thought I should reconnect with the King of France, but I am not involved in trade as much."

"Then what?" Porthos gave d'Artagnan a once over taking in the uniform, while noticing Francesco was wearing normal finery.

D'Artagnan looked down before answering with a small grin. "I'm a soldier for the people of Lucca. I help ensure its security."

Athos would guess that the young man's skills made him more than just a soldier, but they did not press at his rank or title.

Porthos clapped him on the back. "You must be good at that. Kept up your skills for musketeering?"

"You must realize I can never come back," d'Artagnan said in a low voice. "I thought I was a musketeer in my heart, and I am in a way. I fight for justice, just causes. Lucca is an independent state and there is no taxation beyond means or whims of a monarch."

"We thought one day…" Athos had dreamed it in fact, all going back to the way it was before his grave error.

D'Artagnan closed his eyes, opened them on a breath and exhale. "I forgive you. I think I even understand."

"You do?" Aramis looked relieved in getting the absolution, but Athos needed the explanation.

The younger man bit his lip, then released it. "My uncle was a soldier and he said there is a bond forged in war. We did not have that war together, like you three did where _you knew_ the others had to be trusted at their word." D'Artagnan jutted his chin.

Athos hated to admit the truth. He had been at war, facing artillery, swords, muskets with Aramis and Porthos by his side. No matter their differences Athos _trusted_ them. "D'Artagnan, are you happy?"

"Yes, Athos. Maybe more than I have a right to be." The younger man reached out and grabbed Athos's forearm. "Athos, let me go. I found my place."

Athos had to let the lad go. "It is difficult."

"No more than leaving and starting over." D'Artagnan squeezed the forearm. "You did it once, and found a home with the musketeers."

The Gascon had sacrificed his life in France, risked that a new place was better than the old, away from the musketeers. Athos could see it had been the right choice for d'Artagnan. Although it would always be a regret, the damage and destruction done to the boy could not be ignored, serving as a warning.

"Will we see you? Lucca is a trading partner with Spain and the scent of war-" Aramis started before d'Artagnan interrupted him.

"I am a son of France. I won't forget it, but for now I came to visit the monastery, and my home in Lupiac. I am betrothed-to marry once I return to Lucca."

"Felicitations." Aramis gave an abbreviated bow. "I hope one day we meet the woman who stole your heart."

Porthos laughed. "Little d’Artagnans, I would like to see that."

D'Artagnan grinned, then sobered. "If I have a son one day, then I will tell stories of the time before, how well you taught me about being a solider."

They had given d'Artagnan the skills, had taken away his heart, but it was the young man who found an indomitable spirit brought strength of character. Athos was glad they would be remembered with fondness and only had one request.

"One more ride through France, together?"

The end


	6. A Change in the Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I thought I was done with this story, but yep, I am still in a mood. Where this story goes and why? In this story d'Artagnan is never beaten up by the Red Guards instead the flogging happens and then there is a war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who read, comment, kudo and subscribe as it makes writing fun. I am also a fan of reading- and get so excited when I see an update of a story that I am following. (I am trying not to beg anyone because I know how life can get, but d'Artagnan is in peril in so many. If I just knew what happened...) 
> 
> Anyway, not a deathfic, don't worry, but if you thought about it then see end notes.

The boy came charging in. "Serge, the fighting is thick and I'm going to help. Hold this for the Captain." It was a folded missive with a wax seal from the other front.

The cook accepted the letter and placed it in his apron. "You barely can stand let alone hold a musket steady." D'Artagnan looked tired, wan and a bit shaky. The same way he had looked for months.

The younger man shook his head. "They're pinned down."

The cook watched d'Artagnan stride out of the camp. Serge tried to keep an eye out for the Gascon since the flogging. Did not heal right, according to the cook's eyes, and the lad had been left to fend for himself. Serge never believed d'Artagnan had done the crime, Dupis was too smug about the situation, but no one asked the cook. It was not spoken about as the younger man went about his work. The lad was lonely, the inseparables abandoned him, the other Musketeers showed malice and then war came with d'Artagnan's purpose to be sent on solitary missions delivering messages through hostile territory.

The Gascon was appreciative of the extra rations Serge gruffly gave him when he could though the cook wondered if the young Musketeer was actually eating them or giving them away. Lately, he was not alone with watching over the Gascon, d'Artagnan had found a new friend in the recruit, Leon, who was out on a scouting mission.

When the Musketeers came stumbling into the camp, Serge found the Captain, "The boy gave me this."

The Captain looked at the missive and turned it over. "d'Artagnan?"

"Came in early and went to help," Serge replied. He did his best by the boy, but the Captain was supposed to know where his men were.

"Thank you, Serge."

The cook had already walked away, ready to tend to the men with food and a bit of order that only Serge with his demeanor could provide.

(())

It was a bloody battle, and Porthos still felt the adrenaline coursing through his body. There was much to settle with the wounded and to review their next plans. Porthos saw Athos striding towards him as he was reviewing the conditions of their horses and tacks.

"Porthos, tell d'Artagnan to report to me."

It was a surprise to hear Athos utter the lad's name. D'Artagnan was usually a ghost in the camp, barely in the presence of other Musketeers before being sent off to deliver another missive. "You sure he's back?"

Athos lifted the letter. "Told Serge he was going to join the battle."

Porthos glanced around not seeing d'Artagnan's horse. "Aramis and I will ask around." He started to ask the Musketeers he passed as he made his way to the medical tent. No one had seen the Gascon. Aramis was assisting the doctor, taking the less grave cases. He did not pause from applying stitches to Robert, one of the soldiers attached to the Musketeers.

Wincing, Robert explained he had seen d'Artagnan.

"These wounded were in the north quadrant where the fighting was the thickest," Aramis explained with pointed look.

Porthos took it upon himself to question the other wounded who were able to talk, which gave Aramis enough time to help more of the wounded.

They both went to report to Athos. "D'Artagnan was last seen in the north quadrant. Helped Svette and Alain get to safety." Porthos and Aramis had already discussed the matter and wanted to go after the Gascon. He was a Musketeer, and had been ignored by them long enough. "Me and Aramis will sweep the area."

Athos rubbed a hand down his face. It was a tell that meant he wished he could go with them, but being Captain meant he had to tend to all the men. "Quickly."

They took the horses to an outcropping of trees before going by foot with pistol and sword at the ready. Bodies had been pulled back, and the dead were being tended by both sides. D'Artagnan had not been among them. They followed what the other's had told them, and Alain was aware enough to tell them where he and Svette had been before a bullet found Svette. D'Artagnan had given them the opportunity to make it back to safety.

In this area of the countryside there was tall grass that shifted into a wooded area. It was too close to Spanish lines for Porthos's tastes, but they looked until they found an area flattened, as if a person had dragged themselves a short distance.

Aramis hurried his steps with Porthos behind, getting on his knees as the pauldron was visible. "He's alive," the medic said with relief as he placed his hand on d'Artagnan's neck.

"I'll take him. You got his weapons?" Porthos lifted the Gascon, noticing the blood in the midsection.

They charged into the encampment, quickly found a cot in the medical tent. Porthos helped strip d'Artagnan to the waist while Aramis fetched bandages and washed his hands.

It was a stab wound to the lower left side still bleeding as Aramis cleaned the injury.

"Is he going to make it?"

"Porthos, the wound. . ." Aramis did not finish. It was a fatal wound that led to a slow death.

No matter, Aramis would try as his faith required it, but Porthos could not stay for the stitching. "He needs another shirt. I'll get it."

Porthos had a vague idea of where the young Gascon bedded down in a two person tent with Leon, the new recruit. Each tent had two bedrolls and some personal belongings. As far as Porthos could recall, d'Artagnan should have had a filled bag as he had before, but the leather pack did not contain much. What was left made Porthos angry.

Aramis was not in sight when Porthos returned to the tent. A bandage with a tinge of blood was wrapped over the wound. The older Musketeer was about to place the sheet further up when he noticed d'Artagnan tracking his movement.

"I brought your shirt." Porthos held up the shirt. He could see d'Artagnan shiver. "Here, let me help you." Easily lifting the younger man to sitting so he could place the shirt over his head, Porthos got an eyeful of the flogging marks-grotesquely healed. The larger man did not dawdle with his task, unwilling to draw attention he helped d'Artagnan to lie back. "Are you cold?"

D'Artagnan glanced around. "Where's my cloak?"

"Aramis is probably cleaning it." The medic was fastidious about clothing, especially their cloaks.

The young man bit his lip. "No matter."

"You can use mine." Porthos took the blue wool off his shoulders and laid it on the bed.

D'Artagnan fingered the cloth. "You can have mine. It's good to have an extra one."

Porthos's anger flared again as he thought about the evidence in d'Artagnan's tent, the Gascon's reaction and his back. They had abandoned him too long and what remained was a kicked puppy. "Yours is yours. You'll get it back. I'll see to it." Porthos bent down. "I brought you these, too." He pulled the rosary from his pocket and laid them on d'Artagnan's chest near where his hand had settled.

"You went through my belongings," d'Artagnan whispered, his face falling in dejection.

Porthos gut settled heavy with guilt. "Hope you don't mind. What happened to them?" The last time the older Musketeer had seen the beads they looked like new, belying their age.

"Everything." d'Artagnan closed his eyes to end any further conversation.

"You need anything else?" The Gascon shook his head in reply. "You rest. I'll come back later." Porthos needed to talk to Athos about his discovery and prayed d'Artagnan would survive for them to make amends as his thoughts took him towards the truth.

Porthos did not announce himself as he entered Athos's tent. "We found him. Aramis is with him. Doesn't look good. . ." It was enough to get the Captain's attention away from the papers on his desk. "I went to get a shirt and went through his personal items. Not much there- a shirt, smalls, his mother's rosary and two letters. The thing is I remember his mother's beads hung from his bed post at the garrison. They were well cared for, new like, not charred and darkened. Thought he had another doublet and cape, too and they weren't there either."

Athos's hands were on each side of the desk. "What are you saying?"

"Something I should have said before, but maybe there is something in here. It's addressed to you." Porthos handed over the two letters. One had the name Captain Athos de la Fere while the other was addressed to Madame Constance Bonacieux.

"This is-" Athos took the letter, but did not open it.

Every soldier wrote these letters, usually giving it to someone for safekeeping in case they died in the field. "I know what it is. It may have answers."

The Captain nodded, carefully unpeeling the seal and reading the one page letter in silence though his face flickered in an unreadable emotion for a moment. “How were you able to find d’Artagnan on the field?”

Porthos informed him on who he had spoken to in order to get the location on the injured boy.

"Call in Alain,” Athos ordered.

Porthos was curious about the letter, but first he went to find Alain, pulling him away from a card game to push him in the command tent.

It seemed as if Athos had not moved with the letter still in his fingers. "d'Artagnan is grievously wounded. It happened saving your life."

"Yes, Sir," Alain agreed.

"Tell me, after his punishment for the incident with the Queen what happened?" Athos's piercing blue eyes held attention on Alain.

"What happened?"

"Did you punish him further? I want an answer, not another question." Athos's voice had an alarming tone Porthos had never heard.

"We showed him his place."

"Involved some burning, stealing? What else?" Porthos asked as a witness to what was left of d'Artagnan's belongings.

Alain slumped as Porthos pushed him forward. "We broke into his room and made it unwelcoming."

"Write down all the names of those involved." Athos slid over a pen and paper.

There was a moment's hesitation from Alain. "We've lost some."

"I. Don't. Care," Athos spat out.

(())

Aramis had pulled a seat by d'Artagnan's bedside as he set about mending the rip he found at the end of the cloak. He had stepped out to clean the mud stains, brushing it until he was satisfied. It was an act of contrition if he were to be honest. D'Artagnan had been punished for not defending the Queen, but because it had been Anne, pregnant with his son, Aramis had his displeasure overtake him into something that has stained his soul.

The Gascon shifted in his cot bringing the medic's attention to him. "Aramis?"D'Artagnan's voice was rough, showing the need for a drink.

"Do you think you could drink this?" The younger man nodded and Aramis helped him sit up a bit to take the cup. "Good."

D'Artagnan frowned then let his hand travel towards his injury.

Aramis noted the blue cape and the rosary beads around d'Artagnan's wrist that had not been there earlier. "I see that Porthos was here. I was cleaning your cloak, and just finished the minor repair to make it good as new. Are you still cold?" He lifted it to show off his handy work.

"I told Porthos he could have mine, but maybe you could talk to him? I would like it to go to Leon when he becomes a Musketeer."

Puzzled by whatever had transpired with the other Musketeer, Aramis tried to leave the confusion from his voice. "Porthos does not want your cloak." Aramis added it on top of the other man's cloak. "Leon will get his own when it is his time."

"Aramis, I know this is a mortal wound." D'Artagnan did not look into the medic's eyes, finding something in the distance more engaging.

It all made sense- d'Artagnan was making a bequest. "Only God knows that."

"I see." The Gascon focused once more on the sharpshooter. "Should I ask you for Last Rites?"

Aramis felt an overwhelming sadness that threatened to choke him. Instead he cleared his throat. "I am here. There is no harm in it. Do you wish to make your confession?" He made the sign of the cross, embracing his role as a priest in these times.

"I'm a soldier." The young man smirked.

"Other things." Protecting king, country and brothers was not discussed in the confessional.

D'Artagnan bit his lower lip then gave a nod. "I have been prideful, not kept the Sabbath, laid with another man's wife…" The Gascon dropped off.

"Anything else?" Aramis prompted, wanting to know the truth of the matter with the Queen. "Now is the time for you to clear your conscience." He wanted to forgive d'Artagnan for his acts, but only if he heard the truth.

The younger man sighed, tried to burrow into the blankets, winced as a result. "No, there is nothing else that weighs me. You do not have to trouble yourself with this. I am tired."

The sharpshooter reached out to place his hand on d'Artagnan's wrist that held the rosary beads. He finished the sacrament, making the sign of the cross without the blessed oil. He would not deny anyone Last Rites.

"Thank you."

Aramis let the Gascon rest and went to find Porthos, leading him to Athos's tent. His two best friends proceeded to tell them what they had learned. It had the sharpshooter stumbling back in remorse. Athos wanted to speak to d'Artagnan as soon as possible. which had them all by the sleeping younger man's bedside. "You can't will him to wake up." Aramis whispered, but d'Artagnan startled himself awake. "I stand corrected."

D'Artagnan exhaled sharply, placed his hand on his wound before acknowledging them, "Captain?"

"What is this?" Athos showed the Gascon the letter that had been stowed in his bag.

The young Musketeer blinked. "Nothing. Some rambling I wrote when I was drunk. Pay no attention to it." He closed his eyes.

Athos bent down so he wasn’t so overbearing. "Tell me again what happened with the Queen."

"Can't a man die in peace?"

Aramis flinched. He hoped God heard his prayers for a miracle as they had been misled to d'Artagnan's dealings. He prayed for intercession and forgiveness of his sins.

"You're not dying." Athos found that unacceptable.

D'Artagnan succumbed to his Captain's order. "I thought I saw something in the bushes. I told Dupuis I was going to investigate. When I got there I was set upon by some Red Guards who put something over my mouth and nose. I woke later and made my way back to the garrison. You know the rest." It was the same story he said before only with a flat tone.

"After the flogging then what?"

"Please, let this be." D'Artagnan winced, panted for a moment. "What's done is done, Captain."

"Did the other destroy your belongings? Mar your linens?" Athos's voice rose then regulated once more into his laconic drawl.

"Athos, what are you doing?" The Gascon tried to maneuver himself to sitting. "There is nothing to be gained. Please, no more."

D'Artagnan's face contorted into a silent pain, Porthos went to help him sit up while Aramis intervened with another draught. He had let this continue far enough, d'Artagnan would not make wave with his brothers. He was thinking of the greater good. "Drink this."

Once the Gascon quieted and seemed to be losing his battle with consciousness, Aramis pushed them away from the area.

Athos raked a hand through his hair. "I want to speak with Dupuis. Now."

"Your wish is my command," Aramis replied with a flourish. There would be a reckoning that would need no pardon.

(())

_I fear that my time is limited. My missions are alone and I cannot trust the other Musketeers to protect me since the flogging. I believe they would rather see me dead, stripped of life as they have stripped me of my possessions, pride and security. If my fate is death, then I ask my ashes spread in Lupiac by my mother's grave, or if the travel is too far then by my father's outside of Paris. You will probably not grant this wish in the belief I have done wrong and my body will lie in an unmarked grave. You will at last be glad to be relieved permanently of my presence. The truth is I was always innocent. Truly I was steadfast with my protection of the Queen. I have done my duty remembering your tutelage and that of Aramis and Porthos. The abandonment of my treasured friends did not take away from my admiration. As you, Aramis and Porthos taught me, I am a devout Musketeer, pray that I die one._

_Within this bequest is a note to Constance. You are free to read it and use your judgment in its delivery._

Athos had memorized the letter, deciding the letter to Constance would remain unopened to respect d'Artagnan's wishes. He sat as his desk while Aramis and Porthos sat next to the Gascon, each having wine that would not be strong enough to dull what they had put their brother through.

"Where am I?" Athos heard d'Artagnan awaken in confusion. They had moved him while he slept.

"Moved to the Captain's quarters," Porthos answered.

D'Artagnan rubbed his forehead. "I don't understand. I shouldn't be here."

Aramis stopped the action, holding the young man's hand. "Peace, d'Artagnan. We thought this would be more comfortable for you."

"For me?"

Athos took a seat on the side of the cot, careful not to tip the bed or cause the Gascon any discomfort. "Dupuis admitted his treachery. The others admitted their wrongdoing."

"I didn't want this. It would have all ended with me." D'Artagnan covered his eyes as he worked his hand free from Aramis's hold.

"It should have never been. I am sorry for my part." Athos placed a hand on his former pupil's shoulder.

"As are we." Aramis gestured to himself and Porthos who had his head bowed. "We should have pursued the truth."

Tears escaped from the younger man's eyes as he let his hand drop. "I didn't think it mattered anymore."

Porthos took d'Artagnan's other hand, they were all in contact with the injured man.

"A message will be sent to Paris to formally clear you and punish Dupuis." Athos had already written the letter addressed to Treville.

"What will happen to Dupuis?"

"He'll meet a firing squad more than likely." Porthos was angry. It was the large Musketeer who had taken sniveling Dupuis into custody after he revealed his traitorous scheme. Dupuis had met with an unfortunate accident of a broken nose at Porthos's hands when his nose connected to Porthos's fist.

Sobering d'Artagnan sniffed. "Athos, I don't want that. He's a soldier-"

"Not a good one," Aramis commented.

"Let him die a soldier, helping his brothers. No one should be so abandoned." D'Artagnan pleaded.

It was exactly what they had done to the young Musketeer, left him alone after he had been flogged for a crime he did not commit, worse, allowed him to be tortured by the other Musketeers instead of seeking the truth. Now, when it seemed to be too late, they were seeking forgiveness. Athos would give into any request his protégé asked for, "No, no one should."

The camp's doctor from the local village had given a dire prognosis when he examined d'Artagnan a day later, but Aramis was going to try anything within his power to save the young man. They promised not to leave D'Artagnan alone.

"Captain, I just heard, can I see d'Artagnan?" The new recruit came in, fresh from the road.

"Leon, isn't it?" It was the same boy who shared a tent with d'Artagnan, the Gascon's only friend from what Porthos had discovered. "I know you are just returned, but I need this delivered to Paris. It's about d'Artagnan and I know I can trust you."

“Of course. I can leave right away." Leon was eager. He did remind Athos of d'Artagnan, not at all in appearance as Leon was blonde and shorter than the Gascon, but in demeanor. “Can I visit him first?”

Athos gestured to the bed behind the curtain. Leon was hesitant, but stepped onward. He tried to not overhear the conversation, but it was difficult as the Captain recognized the happiness in d'Artagnan's voice. It was the same tone d'Artagnan used with them before the incident with the Queen instead of the tentative one he was using now. At least d'Artagnan referred to them by name.

Clearing his throat, Athos entered the cot area. "Leon has agreed to bring my missive to Treville in Paris."

"By himself?" D'Artagnan was sitting up on the pillows, looking a shade paler for all the draughts that Aramis was giving to lessen the Gascon's pain.

"I can do it. I'll be quick," Leon promised, trying to deter Athos from reneging on the order.

However, Athos had no intention. The road to Paris was still in French hands and Leon would be safe and swift. The Captain was betting d'Artagnan's life on it.

"He is going to be a great Musketeer one day," the injured man said in Leon's wake. "You should see his sword work."

Athos took a seat by the bed. "Are you saying that one day he will beat me? I thought that was your goal." The Captain more than ever wished for that day.

"That will never happen," d'Artagnan answered to Athos's dismay. Had they lost the headstrong boy? 

The younger man sensed Athos's concern. "The scarring," he gestured vaguely to his back.

The Captain nodded. "I see." He saw so much of what had been lost to his mistake, lack of insistence. The markings would impede movement and stretching enough that d'Artagnan noticed a difference. "Still Leon will have to overcome you before he will be able to have his match with me, and I don't see him winning against such a formidable opponent." 

D'Artagnan glowed with the praise.

(())

D'Artagnan knew he was slipping a little away each day as much as Aramis told him otherwise. It was the sadness of the three men that gave it away along with his body. He had a fever that left him chilled and a pain on his side that was not subsiding.

Porthos was sitting with him now although d'Artagnan did not know how it was possible that someone was always with them since there was a war that needed to be fought. "Where are the others?"

"On a mission and they should be back soon,” Porthos answered, giving d’Artagnan a cup of water.

All the men were needed. D’Artagnan did not want to be treated differently. "You should have gone with them."

"My mission is here with you. I'm supposed to find out the routes you take to deliver the messages. The soldiers Athos has been sending have been complaining about thick fighting."

The question sounded familiar, worrying d’Artagnan that he was losing time. "You've asked me about this."

Porthos nodded. "You dozed off talking about a widow."

D’Artagnan vowed to stay awake this time. "Can you bring me a map?" Porthos only took a moment to find one in Athos’s room. "When you went through my belongings there were some wood carvings?"

"Animals,” Porthos confirmed.

"Those are for the children." D’Artagnan started to explain. "Althea is seven and Davide is fourteen. They are the widow's children while Claude’s daughter, Simone is twelve." He had been lonely as a Musketeer, and being sent on solo missions meant he had to make sure to stay alive in order to deliver the messages. He found new paths that took him by two farms where the people were friendly to him, allowing him in their homes when he needed respite. He tried to be good with them, sharing his provisions and humoring the children. It was not much, but in the war with Spain it was these people that were affected the most.

"Tell me you are not matchmaking." Porthos snorted, but watched as d’Artagnan marked his path.

"I have lots of time in the saddle on my own. It would be a good match." Their farms were not close, but d’Artagnan did have hopes for a future arrangement.

Porthos chuckled then leaned into the younger man’s space. "And the widow?"

Josette was older than d’Artagnan by a few years and had been widowed for two. She was looking for a match, but the prospects were slim. Davide, her son, had taken much responsibility along with an older couple in Josette’s employ. It was a hard existence. D’Artagnan, not being a monk, had found himself drawn to her for a chance for a bit of tenderness they both needed. “Is very respectful.”

Porthos thankfully did not push the conversation any further. “This will help the others until you are back on your feet, though I think there is talk of a promotion for you.”

“For what? Dying?” The Gascon wiped his brow as he felt the sweat in his hairline.

The larger man took over with a damp cloth. “Don’t say that.”

“Porthos, even if it had only been for one day that I enjoyed the companionship of my brothers once more, it would have been enough.” D’Artagnan felt guilty for the time Athos spent with him instead of being Captain of all the Musketeers and taking Porthos and Aramis away from their duties. He had spent so much time as a shadow that it was difficult coming into the light once more, but his brothers were shining the sun on him again and he meant every word.

“We should have done more,” Porthos repeated the same apology.

“I think I should have fought more, but. . .” he plucked at the blanket. At some point he chose the path of least resistance for his own sanity.

Porthos rubbed his knuckles. "You're a survivor. All that you've been through…you’re the best of the Musketeers.”

It was as if Porthos were talking about a mythical creature. D'Artagnan was exhausted, which made it easy to forgive their transgressions and past treatment of him so easily. Being angry took energy he did not have, and he wanted peace.

"Rest up, and I'll make sure your friends get their provisions," Porthos added.

D'Artagnan quickly fell asleep hoping that for the sake of his brothers he did survive.

(())

Time became a fluid concept with d’Artagnan having no idea as to the time of day. He just knew when he woke up there was one of his brothers by his bed sometimes two or all three.

Athos was by his bedside reading when he next awoke.

“How was the mission?” D’Artagnan struggled to sit up; Athos placed a bracing arm under him, then moved him into a somewhat upright position. It was uncomfortable, slightly painful and tiring.

“It went well. No causalities.”

The Gascon nodded knowing how everything was measured in lives lost and saved. “Porthos missed you.” The large man was sitting at the table with Aramis cleaning their weapons.

“I heard you were quite entertaining company.” Aramis stated, stilling his movements and rising from his chair.

“Kept falling asleep on me,” Porthos commented, then added, “Maybe you should tell him the story of you and that lady from Villers who…”

Aramis sat on the corner of d’Artagnan’s bed. Athos made room for him. “We were never to speak of that again.” The medic pushed the younger man’s hair back. “How do you feel?”

Already he was drained, tired and felt his essence leaving his body as a weak shell. “Fine.”

The sharpshooter placed his hand against d’Artagnan’s cheek, but did not disagree with him.

“We except Leon to return soon,” Athos said reading through the farce of d’Artagnan’s answer.

Perhaps Leon was supposed to bring help, but from what d’Artagnan knew about wounds and infection he was surprised he had lasted this long. “He’s a good man. He’d make a fine Musketeer. I tried to tell him that he should not be friendly with me, but…”

“You gained a puppy.” Porthos laughed much to d’Artagnan’s chagrin he realized he had gained a protégé.

“I’m not a puppy,” d’Artagnan defended himself. "I was never a puppy."

Athos snorted while Aramis grinned. “Let’s see about changing that bandage and you having something to eat.”

(())

Aramis did not say it out loud, but d’Artagnan was dying before their eyes, pale and shaky just lying on the cot breathing. It was God’s will that had kept the boy with them this long, and he only hoped that God would grant them a miracle.

The miracle was Treville, arriving with a contingent of Red Guards and a physician from the Louvre.

The Minister of War with his cape muddied from his travels went to the side of the injured man.

D’Artagnan was awake and somewhat aware. "Captain, I mean, Minister, what are you doing here?"

The Minister pulled the chair that Athos had vacated closer as he sat. "I've come to see my best soldier and apologize for my treatment of you." Treville handed Athos a sealed letter. "The truth is known by the King and Queen who await your presence at court." The former Captain gestured towards the other man to come forward. "I've brought Dr. LeMay, the King's personal physician."

"At your service." The man nodded, moved to the patient with confidence as he set his bag on the table. “I will need some fresh boiled water, please.”

Porthos excused himself to fetch the water.

"Madame Bonicieux also has ordered me to bring you back to good health." LeMay took d’Artagnan’s pulse.

D’Artagnan’s eyes grew wide. "You know Constance?"

“I do.” Aramis recognized the look that passed over LeMay’s face. He had feelings for Constance. “She is the Queen’s attendant, has been since her husband’s death.”

“Boncieux died?” Aramis looked at the Minister for confirmation. Evidently there was a story that needed telling.

“Let’s take a look here although Minister Treville tells me you are a very competent medic.”

Aramis hadn’t left d’Artagnan’s side, unwilling to leave his care to a stranger or the doctor assigned to the Musketeers who had already given up on the young man.

The sharpshooter gently pulled off the blanket while Lemay washed his hands in the hot water Porthos had brought in. Aramis cut away the bandages and let his hand rest on d’Artagnan’s shoulder trying to soothe his shivering.

“It is infected, and there is a chance that is may have reached the blood, but I would like to try draining the wound. . .”

D’Artagnan was panting as the wound was touched.

“I will have to remove the stitches, which will be painful as will the draining,” He referred his comments to d’Artagnan. “Your friends will need to hold you down.”

The young Musketeer looked towards Aramis and gave him a nod.

Removing the stitches had d'Artagnan squirming and hissing, placing pressure on the wound had him screaming with what little sound he was still able to make. The young man weakened, mewling until he fell unconscious.

There was tension amongst the group, but Aramis breathed a sigh of relief to tell them the lad still lived.

"It's better." LeMay kept his focus on his work. "I need to clean the wound, then add the maggots to remove the dead flesh."

"Will he live?" Athos asked. It was all that mattered since they found out the wrong they had committed.

"Depends on the damage done inside, but I will try my best." The physician gestured for Aramis to pass him another cloth.

"Please," Aramis gripped the simple wooden cross that hung around his neck.

(())

Athos was drinking in a way that he had only done in the past. He knew he needed to stop, especially with Treville present and looking to talk to all involved with d'Artagnan's abuse after the flogging. "Thomas never forgave me."

"For what?" Aramis has remained, sending LeMay to rest in d'Artagnan's quarters with Leon.

"Marrying Anne, being a party to his murder."

Porthos was playing with a deck of cards, looking for the others to join him, but he was not going to be humored. "He knew you weren't involved."

"If d'Artagnan dies without giving his forgiveness. . ." Athos sat up as the Minister joined them, pulling a chair up to the table where Porthos was sitting.

"He's given it to us. We feel guilty," Aramis answered swiping a cloth over d'Artagan's brow.

The maggots had been removed, and seemed to have done their job with the physician deciding to leave the wound partially open even after he had sewn inside the stabbing injury. It rattled Athos to his core to see the blood and felt like it was on his hands.

The Minister pulled the glass away from Athos. "The Queen is beside herself. She would like d'Artagnan back in Paris."

"With Constance,” Aramis smirked. "He can't be moved yet, but recuperating in Paris is a good idea once he can."

Porthos shuffled the cards half-heartedly and then laid them out. "What're you going to do to Dupuis and the others? D'Artagnan doesn't want Dupuis to die."

"Strip him of his commission and send him to fight with Burquette on the lines as a soldier.” Treville poured himself a drink. “The King informed Dupuis's father of his son's action. He's been disowned and his small inheritance as second son will go to d'Artagnan upon the Baron's death. Do you believe he will find that satisfactory?"

"It's honorable. More than he is due." Athos nodded to the sleeping Musketeer. “I think he will be agreeable.”

Porthos gestured to beyond the tent. Athos had the list of men involved in the crime against d’Artagnan. "The others?"

"Docked a month's pay that will go to d'Artagnan,” Treville answered. Athos had written to him with some suggestions on how to handle the situation. Since at the time Treville was the Captain, Athos believed he should be involved.

Aramis stood up to stretch. They heard the pop of his knees. "D'Artagnan has enough to start another life."

"Consider it selfish of me to keep him alive in this life." Athos should want the Gascon to be safe and away from war, but he wanted him here and as a Musketeer.

Aramis came over and squeezed his shoulder. "Of course."

(())

D’Artagnan did stay in the world under LeMay’s and Aramis’s care the infection subsided and he even started to eat solid foods. The camp though was no place for the recuperation that was needed to have d’Artagnan return to full strength.

Treville had returned to Paris, leaving some of his guardsman at the camp to return with Lemay and the Gascon.

Athos, Aramis and Porthos had helped move d’Artagnan to the wagon as gently as possible, though the younger Musketeer still winced and became pale at any movement.

"Marry Constance," Aramis blurted much to the chagrin of the others. "Not right away of course, got to make sure you can do your duty without passing out first."

"Would be an embarrassment to the regiment after all," Porthos added with a snort.

D’Artagnan flushed red and LeMay pinked a little too, though he backed away to busy himself as to not draw attention.

Athos ended his protégée discomfort. "We will see you when we are recalled to Paris."

"I can return to the lines. . ." D’Artagnan placed a hand over his wound.

The forgiveness was there and the guilt, Athos realized d’Artagnan was finding his well-deserved happiness. "I think Constance may sway you for a while, but think about getting strong first. It's a long war, d'Artagnan."

The Gascon made to move into a sitting position. "We will fight together once more."

"Be the stuff of legends." Porthos smiled, grabbed d’Artagnan’s hand, then Aramis added his hand and Athos placed one hand on the top and one hand on the bottom.

The end- really

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes, I thought about d'Artagnan dying. Read this little part if you want to know what happens in that direction:  
> WARNED
> 
>  
> 
> If that did happen it would have when Treville came in and I would have added that d'Artagnan would have asked to speak to Athos about the money he would receive. He whispers to Athos that he wants to the money to go to the two farmers that have been helping him. Athos and the others promise to fulfill all his requests. In the end they scatter his ashes in Lupiac and by his father's grave, they see the farmers (the widow) taken care of and d'Artagnan lives on.


End file.
